


Artemas Ochs Teferi

by Atulreiter



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Athletes, But not the stereotypical ones, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Reader-Insert, figure skating, male!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:46:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atulreiter/pseuds/Atulreiter
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, being an athlete is tiring. It's also time-consuming and lonely and to be honest? Winning doesn't really appeal to you. You continue on competing because you've a serious obligation but your resolve is weakening. A group of strange young men don't do anything to help things along, of course, except for that teeny tiny small part where they actually do. And isn't that a strange development considering they're literally tearing your life apart!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I developed this idea on a whim as I was watching YouTube videos of Michelle Kwan. She's amazing and I was so inspired that I decided I had to do something with it. Of course, I had to go and try something different with Ouran that wasn't the usual "new student from foreign country, hosts meet her, hosts love her, end of story". Nothing against those of you who write those. They're just so common and I like to do things that, well, aren't. 
> 
> Just so you know, this isn't a crackfic. You'll probably never ever see a crackfic from me. But it _is_ Ouran so I mean something's are just inevitable. 
> 
> Uhm...I don't really have much to say on this one. I suppose I should mention that the reader will be a host since that's really the only way he'll get to interact with all the characters but it's not going to be a focus once the reader learns how he fits in with the rest of them. **If** he decides he wants to fit in with them. There's a lot to still be decided though the main events are already planned out. I don't know who should end up with the reader. I'll likely decided based off of which characters have the best chemistry as I write combined with suggestions from my readers. 
> 
> Oh! Also, if you haven't already surmised as much, the reader is **male**. Not a crossdressing girl that the hosts mistake as a boy. I don't care who reads this story of course. I myself read both male and female reader-inserts but I don't want any unnecessary fussing. I'm not going to pretend the character doesn't have a sex just because it's a reader-insert. At the end of the day, a reader-insert character is still a fictional character subject to the whims of whosoever decides to use them and I say this one's a dude. :P 
> 
> I'll probably find something else to say later when I'm not so tired and braindead but right now that's all. As always please enjoy and be warned that I am a VERY slow writer! <3

            The music started and you closed your eyes. Your heart was beating harshly against your ribs and you could feel yourself getting lightheaded. You couldn’t block out the flashing lights. The cameras were going to keep going off whether you wanted them to or not. You knew there was some running commentary on some media station contemplating and speculating about your every move. The attention would only subside after you took your turn in the spot light. The arena was cold but your body was too hot for the jacket your coach made you wear. The race for the medals, the _real_ race, had just started and you were to perform after the next hopeful competitor, “Are you nervous?”

 

            You opened your eyes to look at one of your companions. He was an aspiring athlete your coach had taken under her wing though he seemed to stay underneath yours more than hers. He would be the newest member of your school’s figure skating club when school started back up in little over a week, “Nervous?” You parroted back at him. Your heart fluttered, your stomach churned, and you couldn’t help but grin. You supposed you might have been a little bit nervous but you’d been doing this for so long that it didn’t really bother you anymore. The grueling pressure to be perfect, to perform cleanly, or at least better than those who came before or after didn’t really register to you after so long. You weren’t sure it ever really registered with you very strongly to begin with. Your love for the sport was too strong to let someone else’s expectations ruin your enjoyment. Those same expectations would crush half your competition, though. They’d already taken out three competitors before the event even started. “Nah. Excited.”

 

           You did well enough in the last round to feel confident despite it being your least favorite section of a competition you already weren’t too fond of. You knew better than to underestimate your competition but there was no harm in taking a little comfort in your rank.

            Your attention was drawn to the ginger Russian currently under inspection when he started to move. He was one of six of the strongest competitors. Dimitri Baskov had to be one of the calmest people you’d ever encountered. He was admired for his serenity during his show, too. His movements never made the audience wonder if he was going to miss something since he usually played it safe. It was the same now.

            He moved with enough security to tamper even your excitement. Watching the light—dimmed for his performance—reflect off of the green scales on his pants forced you calm down each time they sparkled. He picked up speed just a little before cruising. A nice but rather slow layback connected the red of his hair, the purple of his top, and the green of his pants in a way that reminded you of a mermaid. You began to wonder if the mermaid was lonely or simply pondering the meaning of life by the seemingly thoughtless, graceful movements of his strokes paired with the soft lingering tones of the song. Another leap and soft landing had you smiling.

            He started up a steady slightly faster rhythm about halfway through and you knew this was where all of his points would come from. He was enchanting and you could admit there was a certain appeal in simplicity but it was also rather easy on the body mentally, physically, and emotionally. You didn’t usually care to look very deeply into these competitions—you left that to your coach and just did what she suggested—but even you knew such a tactic would not fly very well in the event second in prestige only to the Olympics. The whole point was to mess you up, or so you’d heard from someone who’d placed too low to make it to the championships, and he showed no signs of the “required” stress or tension.

           He was moving so fluidly and languidly, you hadn’t noticed his performance was over. The only indication was a belated bow and a secret smile. Someone who didn’t know his style would assume that he’d put in no effort at all. They’d be wrong of course but it wasn’t like that was very obvious.

           You watched him disappear into the Kiss and Cry in a daze before you snapped out of it. Lengshui Nóngmín from China was entering the rink, and your coach was yanking at your clothing. You peeled off the jacket and handed it to her before starting your stretches even as you watched the judges give out Dimitri’s numbers. They weren’t very high but it was to be expected. The first one out never got high marks and it was even harsher because of his performance.

            “Lengshui looks like he’s got something up his sleeve. Look at that poker face,” Your coach murmured, more to herself than to you or Aisukya. You flicked your eyes up to the big screens. Lengshui was usually stone-faced but he seemed even more so this day. That was the trend with him; the better he felt about a performance, the less worried about it he was, the less emotion he showed on his face. It unnerved you considering you were the opposite but the media put the two of you against each other often enough without you commenting about him so you kept silent.

            He didn’t do as well on his last go as was expected so if he wanted to win he’d have to make up for that. He moved around the edge of the rink once before settling into his starting position. It emphasized his chosen costume: black skates that lead up to pants that looked like they’d been engulfed in blue flames. The heat, or rather the chill as you saw it, continued up his right side and tapered off into white smoke in the form of white sleeves. He was taller and lankier than the most of the other competitors but his chest was broader. It usually made him look a bit awkward but the costume transformed it into something beautiful. His designer must have been very talented.

            Timberland’s Apologize featuring OneRepublic faded in and the surprise was almost palatable. Lengshui’s usual music selections consisted of a lot of tinkling pianos or crying violins. He might venture into dubstep every once in a blue moon but he’d never skated to mainstream pieces. People would doubt his capability to perform well to the song but you’d seen him during practice. If all went well, the audience would be stunned. Supporters were already cheering though they quieted quickly as he started moving. He never did waste any time with formalities.

            “Come on, what are you doing? Check your skates. Make sure the laces are tight. Is your ankle secure?” Your coach bent down in front of you and tugged on your feet. You rotated your arms and stretched them above and behind your back as you watched Lengshui. He opened with a lot of rigid turning with wide streamlined legs. On once such turn back to the front, he stabbed his left toepick into the ice and took to the air with his free leg bent at the knee in front of him. He landed and quickly turned and dropped into backward crossovers, gaining speed. He released into a spread eagle, gliding across the ice with his knees bent, heels facing each other and his back bowed. His opening jump was coming soon and you were sure it would be an Axel considering his entrance.

           He didn’t disappoint and landed not only a triple Axel but also a triple Toe Loop and a double Loop in the same combination. The crowd erupted and you laughed quietly, delighted. There were even goosebumps on your skin. The cameras pressed in on you to capture your reaction but they wouldn’t play it to the crowds until later. Lengshui was still on the ice after all and the viewers needed to see him.

            He put his hand to his ear and flew by with one leg slightly lifted as if chasing after a sound before deciding he didn’t want to hear what was being said and swiftly changed direction with a push of that hand and gliding onto the opposite foot. He bent his leg to get even lower in his glide.

           Suddenly, his extended leg came up and sliced through the air, striking the ice, and he used the momentum to stroke. When he was satisfied with the speed he’d gained, he leapt into the air again. Upon landing successfully, the audience cheered but he held up his hands as if to tell them to wait. In the same motion his body was pulled into a pivot that gradually got faster and faster until he dropped the toepick and funneled. He really did look like a flickering blue flame. He released it after a surprisingly short time and took off.

            The energy Dimitri managed to subdue was building again as you watched Lengshui move across the ice. Your muscles were tensing and relaxing rhythmically, subconsciously performing the pulls you’d need to complete the motions you saw being executed. Your heart started racing again, a light pounding that you knew would turn into buffeting by the time your name was called if you even heard it through the beating. Your coach raked her intense dark eyes up and down your frame before settling on your face. She smiled, pleased, “Good. I was wondering when you’d start getting into it.”

 

           “I’m always into it, what are you saying?” She stepped closer to you and started adjusting your hair. It was a wild thing that you didn’t usually put too much effort into. It naturally fell into a pleasing style with just a quick burst from of a blowdryer but this was a professional competition. A gust of hot air was just not good enough. You’d had your hair styled beforehand but you wouldn’t object to a touchup.

 

           “No, you’re always into _skating_. You’re not always into competition. That’s a rare thing for you actually.”

 

            “I don’t think he’s into it even now. I think he’s just excited to get on the ice,” Aisukya said with a playful smile.

 

           “What gave me away?” You asked. You looked up as the Chinese skater whizzed by but a camera blocked your view.

 

            “[Full Name]! [Name]! You’re about to go out next how are you feeling?”

 

            “I feel great!” You smiled and raised your hands in the air. Your coach grumbled good-naturedly from behind you where she was trying to manipulate the pins your stylists had put in your hair just above both ears. It created a feathered look that they’d decided to emphasize with your bangs. Lots of hairspray and hair gel ensured the style would stay for a little while longer.

 

            The reporter chuckled, completely unsurprised by your answer, “That’s good! It doesn’t seem like you’re worried about the other skaters at all.”

 

            “Why should I be? We’re all here because we’re all great skaters.”

 

            She looked a bit confused by your answer but you were a bit confused by her statement so it was a fair trade-off, “You certainly are. Lengshui Nóngmín is certainly charming the crowds right now. He’s filled them with energy that you now have to maintain or add to if you want to guarantee high marks. And that song choice! What do you think of it?”

 

            “Yeah I think that more than anything else caught their attention. It’s definitely new for him but he’s obviously trained hard and it’s paying off.”

 

            She nodded at you slowly and you raised your eyebrows in bewildered amusement. She shook her head and laughed at herself, “I’m sorry. I’m just surprised! You don’t seem to be feeling _any_ pressure at all! Aren’t you worried you’ll fall or that your best isn’t good enough? Are you _that_ confident you’ll have the gold?”

 

            “No,” You said simply. You weren’t feeling any pressure and you weren’t worried about falling; there was no point. Everybody who skates falls whether they’re beginners or professionals. Fearing something that inevitable just didn’t make sense to you. Even if you didn’t fall in this event perhaps you’d fall in another, or maybe you’d trip during a practice. Hell, you might even overbalance trying to get off the ice after your turn tonight. You didn’t know but worrying about it wouldn’t stop it from happening. If anything, it made it more likely to occur. Besides, a well-formed tumblesault usually protected against serious injuries.

            It wasn’t that you were confident either. Well, you were but it wasn’t because you doubted the skill of your competitors. It was because you knew the ice in a way you didn’t think anyone else did. Most skaters tried to take control over the ice, to memorize the way they had to move to get a certain response from it. You didn’t care to manipulate it. It was beautiful on its own and if it wanted to let you slide one way today and another way the next, you’d let it. You supposed that was why you disliked ISU skating events so much. They weighed down its magnificence with strict rules and regulations. They prized its manipulation while you valued its autonomy.

 

             Frustration was slowly building in the retired figure skater and it dawned on you that you'd not said any of this out loud. Before you could try to explain, Aisukya cocked a hip out to the side and rested his hand on it, “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

 

            The reporter cut her eyes at him, “I think you’re a bit mixed up, there, junior.”

 

            You laughed at the offended look on Aisukya’s face and looked back to the rink. You managed to catch Lengshui executing a spiral. His extension was a little loose but that was a given. He only had a few more seconds left in his program and he’d presented a strong one at that. He kicked the ice to start a camel spin, a little slow for his music but nicely done. It flowed into the one-foot spin that would end his program.

            The crowd erupted into cheers and fans jerked homemade banners frantically in an attempt to get the Chinese man’s attention. You rolled your shoulders and rocked a bit on your skates as he began bowing to the audience. Your coach remained by your ear, murmuring encouragements. She knew better than to attempt to give you tips. They didn’t really work for you. Visualizing movements before you executed them just made you focus too hard and you went rigid. Running through your routine mentally over and over before you hit the ice made your thoughts wander more often than not and that was never a good thing for performing. No, the best she could do was what she’d already done and you knew that all the hours she put in to make sure you were absolutely perfect where about to pay off in just a few moments. Lengshui was exiting the rink, heading to the Kiss and Cry, and after volunteers toured the rink to collect the blue flowers and stuffed birds fans had pitched out onto the ice for him, it would be your turn to take center stage.

            The reporter had moved on to speak to Sosuke Mitarashi who would be skating after you. He was your occasional opponent for Japan’s regional, sectional, and national competitions. He was a multitalented skater (he competed in both figure and speed skating competitions) who just so happened to be obsessed with the color lilac. Sosuke usually avoided competitions you entered, focusing on speed skating if you were entering a contest for figure skating but the Worlds was not something he would back away from. Your coach offered you the only piece of advice you actually needed (“Breathe and watch your speed!”) as you took off your blade guards and stepped out onto the ice.

            It felt like coming home.

            The air could get surprisingly stifling in the waiting area but it was cold and clear here. Your muscles rejoiced after being denied the movement they craved for so long. Your self-created wind pulled your feathered bangs across your head and you held your arms out to let it catch on your costume. It consisted of the common black pants though your designer did add a few adjustments. She’d draped bright, shimmering, ruffled, orange and (color) fabric around your hips and trailed a nice triangular pattern in orange rhinestones down the legs. White and black rhinestones bordered the orange and the ruffles were longer on one hip. Your top was actually an intricately decorated vest over a black skin-tight long-sleeved shirt. Attached to the armholes of the vest were tiers upon tiers of loose, translucent, orange frills that billowed down the length of your arms and ended in ruffles at your wrists. The designer had worried about cutting into your speed but your coach just laughed. You had a tendency to rush in your excitement. A drag would be more beneficial than not.

            Most of the crowd wasn’t paying attention to you since the announcers were going over Lengshui’s scores but you smiled and waved at the spectators who happened to catch your eye. His technicals were outstanding, much better than the ones awarded to him for presentation. The judges this time were looking for very flamboyant displays but it just wasn’t in Lengshui’s nature. He’d refused to feed into their whims and a few judges understood that that was part of his personality, part of his charm. Lengshui ended up with a total score of 262.05. It was high. He’d done better than you in the short but you weren’t worried. What would happen would happen. All you wanted to do now was enjoy yourself.

 

             “ _Representing…the Ouran Academy Figure Skating Club,_ ” The announcer started in a deep serious tone, pausing for dramatic affect. “ _Ladies and Gentlemen, [Full Name]._ ”

 

            Your last name was barely heard over the screaming. Banners and Japan’s flag with your name scrawled across them in English and Kanji dangled over the edge. A wide grin blossomed on your face and only half of it was for your audience. After skating one lap to get a feel for the ice, you bowed to the judges and took your starting position.

            The music started. It was an upbeat, latin tempo that immediately struck your heart no matter how often it played. The words were omitted but it wasn’t necessary. Your movements would tell the story. It was a very popular dance song. It was energetic and happy and fun. The drums were fast but muted, the trumpets and guitars were the stars of this number. There was no slow entry or teasing start. It blared on at top volume, jumping right into the heart of it.

            The music started, your body shifted, and the cameras moved. It had begun.

            Your first instinct was to dance, to jump, to fly. It was partially the song’s doing, of course. How could you not get up and dance to it? But the majority of it was simply because you were finally here. You were finally on the ice again. The wind had come to greet you, the chill bathed your cheeks in kisses. A cold caress overtook your body in the warmest way imaginable. It left your skin tingling and your heart racing. It fogged your mind and toyed with your emotions. Your stomach fluttered and your eyes closed. The muscles in your core flexed as your legs worked to push you along. Your balance shifted with your movements, teetering back and forth precariously like the very blades you had strapped to your feet. The feeling was so intense for you--so overwhelmingly pleasurable that you might have been concerned if you weren’t already aware that you were obsessed. This was your addiction and your very soul demanded that you indulge.

            You wanted to. You wanted to let go--to jump and spin and fall and get back up as many times as your body would allow. You wanted to test your speed and leap to the stars and taste the snow crystals you showered in your wake. You wanted to fly with your fingers touched to the ice, to stretch out along the hard surface, to lose yourself in that terrible chill.

            You wanted to be free to bask in the good memories of your greatest sponsor, to relish in her touch and sound and smell. You wanted to find your sister again. To skate with her as you used to before she died. You wanted to search for her presence again, to call her to skate with you even if it is just in your imagination. As long as you felt the wind and the ice and the cold, you could pretend. You could hear her laughter hidden in the rushing wind in your ears. You could see her silhouette in the snow showers you created on sharp turns or stops. You could feel the pressure of her body when your own smacked into the ice. You could have your sister back, if only for a moment, if you let go. If you skated with your heart, if you let it lead you and guide you and ensnare you, you could. You wanted to.

            But you couldn’t.

            You were competing. Your instincts didn’t matter. You had to focus and think and obey. You had to conform and hold back and yet still find some way to show off. You had to mind your body and what it did and how it did it and for how long. You had to win.

            You couldn’t see Yukina this way, not with your heart and mind so closed off.

            But it was okay. Even if it wasn’t what you wanted, it was what she would have wanted for you. She was the one who first encouraged you to take on competitive skating. You were going to go in as a Pairs skating team but it was not meant to be. You were left to do it alone but you would do it for her. You’ll continue to skate with all the talent and grace and love and passion she’d shown you. You’ll win the trophies she should have with your jumps and turns; visit the countries she could have traversed through your spins and kicks; and tolerate the pictures and interviews and documentaries that might have featured two instead of just one if life had been kinder. You would achieve your sister’s dreams and search for her later when the games were finished. But for now, you had to perform.

            You’d admit it was difficult at first to combine dance steps with ISU required elements. The most challenging bit was trying to steer away from dancing to the song in favor of skating to the dynamics of the accompanying music. It was always difficult for you to reign in your desire to be spontaneous especially when you knew you could do more. Still, you were not the only person in your corner and you could not bring yourself to act on such selfish whims. Everyone on your team worked very very hard to create something that fit all of the restrictions and yet still showcased your talent on ice. You would not disappoint.

            And you didn’t.

            Your performance wasn’t as poetic as Dimitri Baskov’s or as intense as Lengshui’s but it was captivating and upbeat and energetic. It was fast and whimsical and only someone with your skill with speed and balance could pull it off. Every leap captured the crowd. Your footwork was inspired and throughout it all, you smiled. You laughed when you sliced through the ice and licked your lips with a flirty grin as you shook your hips. Your costume created the illusion of a streaking comet, shimmering and burning over the ice. You had to remind yourself to mind the mess that came with moving too fast. You paid very close attention to your pace and slowed up on difficult maneuvers to ensure your lines were clean. It wasn’t hard for you to maintain your energy throughout the entire performance. If you hadn’t been breathing and sweating so heavily, one might have thought you’d expended no energy at all. Still, you didn’t complain when your program was finished.

            You circled the rink slowly in an attempt to calm your heart. Combine your spinning with its furious pumping, and you were left with a massive wave of dizziness. You smiled and waved at the roaring crowd. Burnt orange roses and fox plushies holding snowflakes littered the ground. Your ears were ringing and the cameras were blinding you but you persevered. Fans hung themselves over the edge of the high wall to try and touch you as you passed. You accepted one young girl’s offered toy as you passed. You loved interacting with the crowds but there were other people who needed you to move on. You bowed to the audience as you continued to glide towards the Kiss and Cry.

            A mass of people crowded you as you stepped off the ice. You largely ignored them, trying to focus on coming down from your high so you could hear your results. You registered Aisukya rushing up to your side with a bottle of water. He waved it in front of your face insistently as he chattered on excitedly. You couldn’t really hear him, there was too much talking and cheering going on. Your coach appeared out of nowhere and steered you towards an ornately decorated padded bench. You dropped down onto it with a sigh, only to immediately grin as you caught sight of the camera waiting in front of you. You waved enthusiastically even as your coach pulled on your skates. You shifted awkwardly to let her fasten each of your blade guards onto them. You could hear the announcers guiding the show along. No doubt the hosts were giving the viewers an earful though you doubt it compared to the one you were getting, “You did absolutely amazing! It was even better than when you were practicing! You should’ve seen their faces—”

 

            “Hush for a moment, Ai-chan,” Your coach demanded affectionately. The boy wrinkled his nose but obliged. He wandered off back to the edge of the rink while your coach finished fussing over you. She pressed a towel into your hands and tossed your jacket around your shoulders before she started playing with your hair. “Now, [Name]. They’re still clearing the ice but your scores should be coming up soon. You did great. Aisukya’s spot on about that but Lengshui’s got a high lead. You short was good but you still need 173 points to take first place from him. I think you might have done it—I didn’t see anything they’d dock you off for—but we’ll see. You skated beautifully. Even if you don’t get first I just know you’ve got a medal.”

 

            You took long heavy swigs of your water before you finally sighed and cradled the plastic bottle in your lap. You smiled at your coach even as your eyes remained transfixed on the large screen overhead, “Hopefully. I think I did well enough to—oh hey! Here we go.”

 

            Aisukya barreled over and settled on his knees in front of you and the coach to watch your scores come up. You could still hear the crowd’s distant raging. It fluctuated as your scores were announced. Your stomach fluttered as the numbers appeared on the screen. You watched them appear one by one, adding and building upon each other until the announcer came back on the system and said: “ _With a final score of 176.7, [Full Name] has knocked Lengshui out of first by 4.7 points. His total combined score is 266.7--_ ”

 

            There was no chance for your hearing to recover. You didn’t mind though. You’d have sore cheeks to match from smiling so hard. You were practically strangled between your support crew who ran up to hug you once you left the Kiss and Cry. The volunteer skaters lingered in the back awkwardly until everyone settled down. It was pretty fast considering Sosuke Mitarashi was taking the rink. They approached you shyly and offered you a huge bouquet made up of the flowers they’d collected off the ice. There were two trash bags full of merchandise between them from the rink as well. It was interesting trying to balance all three but in the end your coach took them off your hands.

            You used the media’s temporary disinterest to your advantage and made your way to the concession stand. Really, it was more like a mall’s food court only a bit more organized. There was only one place to get food from though it had seven cash registers open. The lines were short. That was hardly a surprise. When the ice needed to be serviced, then the lines would get busy but for now, you were home free.

            You didn’t usually eat processed food. You had both a private chef and a nutritionist waiting for you to simply hint at being even the tiniest bit peckish. Your family could afford to eat lavishly and you did so very often. Even now you probably had a meal waiting to be delivered to you. But it was a tradition for you and your sister to indulge in sugar and grease after a good skate. Problem was, you never knew what to get. Your meals were usually all predetermined. You never had to consider what you were going to eat or what went with what. You were as spoiled as spoiled got. The fact that you were in a different country didn’t help matters at all. Being bilingual didn’t mean you knew what something would taste like in your mouth. You were still tilting your head from side to side, scrutinizing the menu when you heard a soft but confident voice say, “I’d go for the pizza. This country’s take on it is very interesting.”

 

            You jerked your head to the side and were surprised to see Matthew Derosier-Daigneau standing off to your right. He was Canada’s most promising representative and he was to skate next after Sosuke was done on the ice. He was incredibly cute with exquisitely layered gold hair and almond-shaped bright candy-green eyes. He was taller and broader than you but not at all bulky despite this. A pair of frameless glasses dangled off the tip of his small, straight nose. He lifted a hand to readjust them before returning it to his jacket pocket. He, like most male skaters, wore black pants as the bottom half of his costume. You couldn’t see his top very well since he was bundled up but you suspected it was sunflower yellow if the high collar was anything to go by, “Congratulations by the way. Your program was absolutely amazing. You deserve your marks.”

 

            “...Oh! Thank you! But aren’t you supposed to be getting ready to go on? What are you doing out here?” Matthew was a very strong competitor so you weren’t surprised he wasn’t the least bit ruffled but being good didn’t mean rules didn’t apply. He could easily be classified as withdrawn if he lingered too long. It wasn’t like the Long programs were _that_ long. That was probably why they started calling them the Free skate.

 

            He chuckled a little, “Don’t worry. I’m heading back there now. I just needed a breather and something to drink. On that note, I’d also try the cream soda if I were you.” He met your eyes and smiled warmly. You weren’t sure why it made you blush but it did. Your own reaction surprised and disturbed you and you shifted on your skates, casting your eyes away. “Will you come watch me skate?”

 

            The question surprised you. You supposed you did have a tendency to ignore the other skaters once you were done on the ice but none of them seemed to mind. Being asked personally was unexpected especially from someone who wasn’t the least bit interested in intimidating others with his talent, “Uh, sure!”

 

            “Then you might want to hurry with your order. Sosuke’s almost done and I’d hate for you to miss a second.”

 

            “R-Right!” You weren’t sure why this man flustered you so. It was a little unnerving actually. You turned to the cashier and placed your order even as Matthew tipped his head and turned away.

 

            “À plus tard.”

 

            You weren’t sure what that meant but you supposed it was a departing phrase and hurriedly returned one of your own.

 

            He hadn’t overestimated how much time you would need. The employees weren’t slow by any means but they weren’t quite fast enough to get you back to your seat without rushing. You caught the last glimpse of Sosuke’s scores on the board before the screens switched to Matthew prepping to step onto the ice. His coach was doing a last minute check, clearly frustrated with his wayward athlete, though he found nothing amiss. Matthew didn’t smile as he took the ice but he didn’t look at all unhappy. If you had to guess, you’d say he had earbuds in and was trying to focus more on his routine than the crowd reacting to him.

            He usually did take a rather methodical approach to competition; not to the extreme lengths Lengshui went to but just enough to feel secure. He had a very clean, very quiet style of skating that enthralled spectators. His coach had done well to select Big Love Adagio by Bond as his music. You envisioned a melancholy scholar when you saw him move on the ice. His wide and sweeping motions combined with sudden, almost jarring, required elements made you think of a doctor who’d at once discovered a curse and a cure in the same form of medicine. The bright yellow of his clothing contradicted the sadness underlying the song. His whole performance inspired one to think and not just watch. Even though he himself remained unmoved by his actions, it was impossible for spectators not to be swept up emotionally. You were saved from shedding tears by Sosuke himself.

            He’d sidled up beside you and nudged your shoulder with his own. You bowed your head respectfully to your fellow representative though he largely ignored it, “So, it looks like you’ll be the one keeping Japan in the race this time. Congratulations. There’s no way I’m going to rank high enough with my scores.”

 

            You didn’t get a good look at all of Sosuke’s marks but you were sure he couldn’t have done _that_ badly. And even if he had, he was juggling two very different styles of skating, “I mean it makes sense for you to have a tiny few errors. Er, that’s disregarding the fact that tiny mistakes are all it takes in ISU to lose…” You told him thoughtfully. Then it occurred to you that that hadn’t been the most encouraging thing to say so you continued with: “That’s okay though! I heard Speed skating was pretty tough this year. You can’t be expected to win _everything_.”

 

            “Ha! Especially not if _you’re_ skating in the same area,” Sosuke snorted. He had a very cocky attitude but he wasn’t at all stuck up or vindictive. He’d given it his all and accepted that it wasn’t enough. He hadn’t even gotten upset with your tactless comment. It was refreshing honestly especially since people from Japan had a tendency to be so garishly envious. “Still, it looks like Canada might be getting even better. Look.”

 

            He flipped his spiked black hair out of his face and turned his dark, onyx eyes to the television. Both of you watched the blonde skater slip off the ice and into the waiting area to hear his scores. He touched his hands to his ears and came away with plastic like you’d assumed. His coach exchanged them for his signature hoodie and glasses. His green eyes struggled to stay on what you knew from experience was the scoreboard as he pulled it over his head. The entire building waited anxiously for the judges to give their marks.

            Sosuke whistled loudly when the numbers came up almost exactly like yours. His marks were a bit higher actually. The only thing that stopped him from stealing first place from you was the fact that your Short had been better than his. He claimed second place only because he was 3.75 points behind you. Surely Lengshui was annoyed. He was now third only because Matthew bested him by a fraction of a point. This really was a tight race and it was only the first set of skaters.

            The rink surely needed to be smoothed over now after so many skaters cutting it up. When the show resumed, Miguel Espina Calderón from Spain would take the ice. He was a fiery skater that many people liked to compare you with. It was true that both of you were fairly similar. The biggest difference between you—aside from the fact that he was a redhead and you were not—was he preferred showy performances over practical ones. He didn’t mind making mistakes in his skating as long as he recovered perfectly and continued to present with all the charm that came with his personality. If judges could score based on likeability alone, Miguel would win hands down every time. However, favorite or not, rules were rules. That’s not to say Miguel skated terribly—he usually snagged at least sixth place and no one could push him further down—he just needed a bit more refining to score higher.

            The rest of the skaters were either new or not skilled enough to hold your attention for very long. You expected this. Once the other skaters saw the scores of others who went before them, especially if the numbers were high, they were less likely to branch out with anything exciting for fear of messing up and therefore screwing up any slim chance of winning they had left. They focused too hard and their performances suffered from a lack of personality and creativity because of it. This obviously hurt them since one could not win a figure skating competition on perfect elements alone. The only one who wasn’t swept up in the hype was one of America’s skaters, Ryan Halls. He was the very last person to skate and last definitely did mean least in this scenario.

            His skating was as interesting and innovative as it usually was; he just didn’t follow the rules very well. He might have placed higher if he hadn’t been deducted so many points. You didn’t see how any good coach could let their athlete out on the ice so ill-prepared. Maybe the rumors about him firing his support were true but even a disinterested competitor like yourself knew the basics of what flew and what didn’t. You suspected he was just trying to prove some sort of point but you failed to grasp the message in any case.

 

            You were pulled away from your lollygagging by a crew of reporters. The event was basically over. The only thing left to do was to award the medals and pose for pictures. You’d spent most of the time socializing with anyone who wanted to talk. The media was always interested but your coach was quick to shoo them away if she caught them. It was impossible to avoid them all though, especially when you moved around as much as you did.

 

            They caught you off-guard as you were waiting with the other competitors in a large private sitting area. It was similar to the Kiss and Cry but larger, less ornately decorated, and with fewer people holding cameras in your faces. There was a low table with tiny portions of snacks and large pitchers of water sitting in the middle of it all that you nibbled from whenever you remembered it was there.

 

            “[Last Name]-sama! We’d like to talk to you if you don’t mind!” A reporter for some television show you didn’t watch said to you. They spoke to you in Japanese however so you knew at least that it would be broadcasted back home. It was likely a morning talk show considering the time difference but you weren’t too concerned with the particulars.

 

            You turned with a grin and waved at the camera before turning your attention, mostly, to the reporter. She wasn’t anything special really. Short with dark hair cut close to her head, dark eyes, and peachy skin. She was wearing an odd-colored yellow suit but you barely noticed it. The fashion in Japan was much weirder, “Sure. You’ll have to be quick, though. If my coach or manager sees, they’ll chase you away.”

 

            “Oh we know you’re busy! Thank you for accepting to speak with us!” She bowed. “They are about to hand out the medals. You’ve managed to keep first place even though you were one of the first skaters out there. Well maybe “managed” is the wrong word but you didn’t focus too much on jumps this routine. Why is that?”

 

            “Well,” you began, slowly. You were trying to figure out how your choreographer would answer this question. You thought she would say something like: “Figure skating isn’t all about jumps and the tempo was too fast for leaps to be the center piece anyway. The steps were challenging enough with all the fancy footwork and I think the judges noticed that.”

 

            “Oh, I don’t mean to imply that you neglected the required elements! They were executed flawlessly in a way that accented the major highlights of the songs. A particular crowd favorite was when you performed a triple combo in time with the ringing cymbals of the song’s beat. Still, your program was geared more towards difficulty and style rather than airtime.”

 

            “Yeah, my strong points are speed and balance so we decided it would be best to make a program that would play into that.”

 

            “Yes, it looks like it would be hard to imitate something as intricate as the moves you pulled off.”

 

            You shrugged with smile, “It’s not an easy routine even if it was designed with my style in mind. It’s very hard to circle your hips while trying to simultaneously stroke or pose in a spin. It’s even harder to do it as sharply and quickly as the song required. I don’t feel it yet but I know my muscles are going to be sore tomorrow morning. Good skaters also don’t make it a point to copy each other in these types of things.”

 

            “Well, it looks like your originality won you the gold this time! How does that make you feel?”

 

            “Honestly?” You asked as you turned your (color) eyes skyward. “I don’t think it was _my_ originality that won it, rather it was my choreographer and I’m just the only person who could present it.” You shrugged again and turned your eyes to watching people move around you. They were moving faster as the cameras prepared to turn back on for the finale. “Anyway, I don’t really feel any kind of way about winning medals, truthfully. I mean, of course I’m ecstatic that I did well and I’m always appreciative but I don’t skate for money or fame or superficial things like that so…”

 

            “Why do you skate then? Aren’t you a serious competitor?”

 

            “Oh, I hate competing.” You had to laugh at the shocked look on her face. “I don’t like going out there just to prove I can do something better than someone else. I skate because…well, because it’s _me_. There is no greater feeling for me. I can escape from the world for a little while when I’m skating. It’s just me, my feelings, and God. We have our best meetings out there, you know?"

 

            “Then why keep competing if you hate it so much? Isn’t that a waste of your team’s time and resources?”

 

            “No, I don’t think so,” you said lightly. “See, I’ve been figure skating since I could walk. It’s all I really know how to do and I want to continue getting better and better at it. I want a coach to help me progress even further but coaches train athletes and athletes have to compete. You see? They want their hard work to mean something so they want me to go for the gold if I can do it. So we compromise: I want to share my love for skating with as many willing people as possible and the biggest crowd just so happens to be tied with the ISU. And my coach wants to nurture someone into being and achieving the very best that they possibly can so we’re really just helping each other out.”

 

            “Then will you go to the Olympics? From what I can tell from the rules, you’ve definitely made it in and won Japan a few nominations, too.”

 

            “Ah! _That_!” You made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. “Yeah, that’s a bit more competition than I _ever_ want to be honest. If you think _this_ is bad, the Olympics are just…wow!”

 

            Your companion smiled deviously. You supposed she thought she was being clever but you found the expression to be kind of creepy if you bothered to really look, “Are you saying you’re _afraid_?”

 

            You tipped your head and furrowed your brows in confusion. You didn’t see where anything you said implied in the slightest that you were scared to compete, “Well, no. I mean I do get a thrill whenever I think of doing something as big as...as the _Olympics_ but it's not fear.” You shook your head and looked down as you struggled to find a way to explain. It was clear she didn’t understand what you meant but you couldn’t find a way to clarify.

 

            In the end you shrugged as you usually did when you gave up on tedious pondering and decided to speak on the abstract thoughts that always swirled deep in your subconscious, “I don't know. I'd go if my coach ever _REALLY_ wanted me to but I feel like it's very rude for someone like me to go after a medal with so much prestige. After all, _I_ don't skate for medals. _I_ skate for _me_ and to take away the chance for someone else who's always dreamed of earning such a medal--someone who'd probably work themselves to the bone just to see it…it's cruel, really.”

 

            “...You're a very kind person, [Last Name]-sama.”

 

            You laughed loudly, your jovial attitude snapping back into place as fast as a released rubberband, “Well, thank you! but I don’t think so.”

 

            “How come?” It seems you were constantly surprising people with your responses. Maybe that was the secret reason the media chased after you like a bunch of hounds. You found it ironic that your symbol was a fox.

 

            “Am I not already doing the same thing I described just at a lower level?”

 

            She couldn’t deny it. It was true. Someone _had_ lost first place to a skater who didn’t even really want it and it wasn’t even the first time since you’d competed dozens of times before now. The reporter could only stare at you and you found you could only shrug and smile stiffly. It was weird; you’d never really analyzed yourself before. The revelations made you a little uncomfortable, “Uh, next question please? We’ve only got like five minutes left.”

 

            “Oh, yes, of course. Um,” she glanced down at a tiny notepad you hadn’t noticed before and asked rather lamely, “Do you know anyone who’d want to skate in the Olympics?”

 

            “…Really?” The question was so laughable that it completely distracted you from your uncharacteristic downheartedness. You were rarely without energy as it was, “I don't know a professional skater--besides myself of course--who _doesn’t_ want their shot at the Olympics! It's a serious honor and a major confidence boost. I mean only the best athletes in the WORLD compete there so to be counted among them? To have someone say _your_ skills rival the BEST in the entire WORLD? And then if you win...just wow. Yeah, I know a few people! Ha ha!”

 

            “So then what does that say about your own skill if you keep getting invited to go?” She smiled with a wink.

 

            That pulled you up short and you blinked quickly, “O-Oh, well, I, um…”

 

            “Awww, you're blushing! How cute!!!”

 

            You resisted the urge to cringe. You hated when people said that! It just made you even more flustered when those rare waves of self-consciousness suddenly assailed you. You could admit that some small part of you enjoyed the reaction _your_ reactions inspired in others but mostly it just made you want to hide under a blanket or something. It must’ve showed on your face because she only giggled harder. It was like she’d forgotten she was a reporter and reverted back into a schoolgirl teasing a cute boy. It was maddening! For the first time in forever, you wished there wasn’t a camera there, digging up your nose.

            You were saved from your inevitable meltdown by some sort of event manager who urged the lot of you onto the ice. You were the first to leave and it had very little to do with the fact that you’d won the gold.

      

**Author's Note:**

> The numbers and scores I used were a combination of previous recorded averages and random number generators. All the presenting and announcing was mostly mimicked from the events I've managed to find on YouTube. I don't know how they do them now and I don't think it's all that important since it was mostly there to make the story feel more complete. I myself am not an athlete and all the athletes I know are not figure skaters. I'm not an expert so all you die-hard sports fans (Hey! They read, too!), I don't want to hear a rant on statistics or technicalities or how you're pissed because "Country Y's athletes have always done better than Country F's so how come blah blah blah!!!"...No. Blame the random number generators. I was actually disappointed that the number generator placed the reader as number one. That's so cliché and I debated on rolling again but I went to a random generator for a reason...no point in contradicting myself if I was just going to choose the numbers myself from the beginning, eh?
> 
> Anyway, I'm just rambling and I'm tired. I hope you liked it. The Host Club will likely make their debut in the next chapter. If they don't they'll certainly appear in the one after. 
> 
>  
> 
> Almost forgot. For anyone interested in what the title means, it's an anagram. I'm not going to reveal what it is any time soon but if someone happens to guess correctly that would totally make my year, no lie. 
> 
>  
> 
> And no I have not started writing the next chapter yet! Lol


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